


Travels of An Anxiety Ridden Demon

by pyjamarama



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Crowley (Good Omens), Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 16:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20604179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyjamarama/pseuds/pyjamarama
Summary: Aziraphale leaves the city behind, moving to South Downs without Crowley.((A bit of an angsty take on their life after the Armageddon that wasn't.))





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this mini-fic, driven by my own internal struggles with anxiety.  
I put a lot of myself in this.  
In many ways, I am this version of Crowley.

Aziraphale had grown tired of the city. After their respective trials, he didn’t really feel at home in the bookshop anymore. And even though he never actually witnessed its demise, he couldn’t look at it without picturing it as a pile of soot and rubble. Of course, it _wasn’t_ burned down anymore, thanks to the prepubescent Antichrist. But it was the principle of the matter. Just like the stain on his favourite coat, he would always know it was there underneath.

So, one lovely Spring day, he packed all his belongings up—with the help of some divine miracles, of course—and moved out into the countryside. He had found a wonderful cottage in the South Downs, right by the sea. Crowley, of course, complained about his move. But ultimately ended up helping anyways before returning to his flat in Mayfair. He would visit sometimes—less often than Aziraphale had hoped—and work little wonders in the garden to help it grow. They would have dinner together, drink, and then he would return back to his place in London.

Aziraphale spent most of his days curled up in his chair by the fireplace reading, sipping at his cocoa. Or sometimes he would write at his desk. On the occasion, he would wander into the nearby town to peruse the shops, say hello to his neighbours, and enjoy the ocean air.

Crowley hated it. He hated being away from Aziraphale. They had spent enough time apart over the past six millennium that he didn’t want to spend any _more_ time away from the Angel. He hated it. He hated that he felt this way too. He would pace his flat and spray at his plants angrily before curling up in his bed to wallow in his self-pity. If Aziraphale ever called to invite him over, he would mask his excitement under clipped or bored tones.

Aziraphale was not an idiot. He could tell that Crowley was unhappy. Oh, the wily serpent could try to hide his true feeling as much as he could but at the end of the day, Aziraphale _knew_. They had been friends for too long for him _not_ to know. So, he invited him over for dinner and the Demon promptly agreed.

The Angel—since leaving the city and reading _far_ too many cookbooks—had become quite the accomplished home chef. He had come a long way from trying to peel an onion with a vegetable peeler. Thus, he stood in his quaint kitchen with a frilly apron tied around himself while he fried off some vegetables in a pan. Crowley stood in the doorway watching him intently from behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale held out a spoon of something, Crowley took it into his mouth and nodded with a hum of approval.

“Lamb?”

“Indeed.” The Angel smiled, portioning out the dish into two bowls. He placed them on the dining table and uncorked a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. “With pan seared vegetables from the garden.”

“Hnnm.” Crowley only grunted in response and took a long drink from his wine. After dinner and dishes, they retired to the front room, a few full wine bottles tucked under their arms in tow. And they drank. They drank until things didn’t really make sense and every other thing that came from their mouths was perceived as amusing. They sat together on the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace and laughed, each drinking directly from their own bottle. “’Nd I sssaid…I said to ‘em…wha’d I sssay to ‘em? I dun ‘member wha I said to ‘em but the point isss that he had a fez and it was ssstupid!”

“Fezzes _are_ rather ridic— redac— silly.” Aziraphale nodded, a long drawn out motion that sent his head bobbing limply. “…Crowley?”

“Hn?” The serpent turned his yellow gaze to the Angel next to him and was met with closed eyes and a flushed face. The tip of a pink tongue darted out for a fraction of a second to wet plump lips. The blond’s head had lolled to one side and it seemed he was about to fall asleep.

Crowley, in his drunken stupor, swore he could see a halo, lighting up the Angel’s features from behind. He was beautiful. Perfect. And he wanted him. All to himself. To call his own. Crowley licked his own lips, mouth suddenly feeling very dry. And he did it. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together. When he felt no resistance, he tilted his head to deepen the kiss and was shocked to find a tongue slide into his mouth, battling with his own. He groaned into it, pressing the blond down onto the sofa.

Aziraphale, for his part, ran his hands along Crowley’s sides, pulling him closer atop himself. They found a rhythm together in their kisses and in their hips. They ground into one another, moaning into each other’s mouths. Until Crowley rolled them off the couch and they stumbled their way to the bedroom, shedding clothing along the way.

They tumbled onto the bed together, limbs and mouths entwined. Aziraphale wrapped his legs around Crowley’s hips, pulling him closer with his heels as hot breath puffed out against the Demon’s neck. They found a whole new rhythm together then. Pressed flush together, hips moving in tandem, hands exploring and groping and scraping skin and blankets. The glisten of sweat rolling down faces and spines, matting hair to foreheads.

Crowley found himself saying something, but his inebriated mind couldn’t process the words leaving his mouth. He only noticed that they made Aziraphale smile and cry. They must have been good words to have that sort of response, he thought as he kissed the tears away. They called each other’s names as they finished and collapsed in a heap on the quilt of the bed. Both quickly drifted off into a peaceful, drunken slumber, nuzzled in each other’s arms.

With daybreak, Crowley woke first. Very slowly, he opened his eyes. It was still a little dark outside, but a clock on the wall read that it was a quarter past six in the morning. He groaned quietly and looked around before settling his vision on the head of white-blond curls that was cuddled against his chest. And he panicked. Slowly and carefully, he extricated himself from the Angel’s hold and gathered his clothing up. He dressed and, giving one last look over his shoulder at the sleeping figure, left the cottage.

Aziraphale woke as the sun rose high, peeking into the window of his bedroom. He was alone in his room in a cold bed. Crowley had been gone for some time, it seemed. The Angel frowned and lay there for a while, staring up at the ceiling. Had he scared Crowley off with his advances? No, that couldn’t be it. Though his memory was a bit hazy, he remembered that Crowley had participated and had said some rather sweet words. Worry built in his mind and he chewed his lip before getting up and dressing, hurrying down the stairs and to the phone.

It rang and rang and rang. When his Demon didn’t pick up, it went to the voicemail. He hung up and tried again with the same outcome. He left a message and proceeded to fret for the rest of the day. He tried the phone again as the sun was setting. Nothing had changed from the morning. No one answered, so he sulked through the night. The next morning, he tried again. Still the same. And the next. And the next. And the next until suddenly a whole two months had passed. He had not seen or heard from Crowley and his worry began a frightening crescendo, an allegro of panic.

He left his little cottage by the sea in a whirlwind of anxiety, taking the train all the way to London. He stayed in a hotel there for another month, reaching out to any and all sources available to him to try and find his serpent. His car was still there, but he wasn’t in his Mayfair flat. He wasn’t in his favourite pubs. He wasn’t wandering the streets. And when Aziraphale reached out to try and locate the Demon via his ethereal powers, he couldn’t sense him either. Crowley was gone. Or, in the very least, hiding himself extremely well. Exhausted by the search, he informed Shadwell to keep an eye out, and left to return back to the South Downs.

He sulked for months on end. Calling Crowley’s phone every morning and evening in the off chance the red-head ever returned. He became despondent and no longer left the cottage to go into town. Instead, he spent his days waiting by the fireplace. Until one afternoon, a year and a half later, the phone rang.

By that point, he had stopped getting excited about that though. There were days when he would jump up excitedly, stopping what he was doing to run and snatch up the receiver only to be disappointed by a telemarketer or a surveyor or anyone that _wasn’t_ Crowley. The ringing echoed through the cottage as he slowly shuffled into the front room.

“Hello, this is Mr. Fell, how may I help you?”

“…Zira.”

“…Crowley?” Azira’s voice caught in his throat at the question, coming out in a mere broken whisper. And he found himself sobbing. “C-Crowley, where are you? Please come home, dear! I miss you dreadfully.”

“Zira, I—” The Angel could hear a deep breath being drawn on the other end and waited patiently for him to continue. “I’m on my way over. Leave the door unlocked.”

“Crowley! Wait—” The dial tone sounded in his ear and he sighed, replacing the receiver back into its cradle. Standing, he followed his Demon’s instructions and unlocked the front door of the cottage. He stood back and stared at the entrance for a very long time. Until his legs felt stiff and he had to sit. He did so, never taking his eyes off the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley liked the city. It was just so busy and there was so much to do there. He had three favourite pubs he frequented. There were several restaurants that he liked—though, mainly, he only liked them because Aziraphale seemed to like them. And there were just so many people that he could mess with. Although he was no longer employed by Hell to ‘make some trouble’, he liked pulling little pranks here and there on unsuspecting humans. Nothing that would _hurt_ anyone. Just little things to mildly annoy and inconvenience people.

But then Aziraphale said he was moving away. To the middle of nowhere, no less! All the pubs and restaurants and people were _insufferable_ without his Angel by his side. He _needed_ the chiding remarks from over his shoulder to make him smile. Because sometimes, the pranks weren’t for the humans, really. They were for _himself_. It was so he could hear his Angel speak to him in that kind, reprimanding tone. He loved it. Aziraphale would chastise and then ask to go out to lunch or invite him over for drinks. Every time.

He was a good friend though. He saw the Angel struggling with the move and offered to help get him settled in. The bright smile he got from that would have been blinding if not for his sunglasses. He had ducked his head and told the blond to shut up, smiling to himself when the Angel wasn’t looking. And he visited. As often as he could stomach, anyway. Driving all the way to the cottage was a chore and seeing Aziraphale out there and having dinner was emotionally draining. Every visit felt like a kick to the stomach. Like a black hole in his chest. It hurt.

After his visits, he would sober up and make the drive back to the city. Compared to the cottage, his flat felt so cold and lonely and empty. It just wasn’t the same without Aziraphale. He would grab his mister and stalk towards his plants with a renewed menace, taking out all his frustration on them; they shook violently and grew wondrously. Then he would take on his snake aspect and slink into his bed, curling in on himself under the thick blankets until sleep took him away from it all.

Aziraphale had invited him to dinner one night, like usual, but something felt different this time. He watched the Angel cook, like he usually did. He liked the cute frilly apron. It was feminine, yet somehow fit so very well with Aziraphale. They had lamb and wine. And then more wine. And even more. Until they were beyond intoxicated. Crowley had a love-hate relationship with being drunk. It would do one of two things: either take him away from all his troubles or force them all to come bubbling to the surface. That night, it did the latter and he kissed the Angel.

But they did so much more than just kiss. They made love as the moonlight filtered through the curtains of Aziraphale’s bedroom. His Angel was so soft and warm and the sounds he made were so very delicious. But he was drunk, they both were. And he found himself whispering sweet nothings into the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. Words he wouldn’t remember come morning.

_I love you. I always have. I always will. You are my moon and sun and stars. You are my universe. You are my light in the darkness. I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my entire existence. I love you. I love you…_

The morning light didn’t wake him up. It was a dream that held that honour. A dream that started off as quite lovely. He and Aziraphale were taking a stroll through the garden, heading down into the nearby town. The Angel wanted to show him all the shops and food stalls he loved so much. Wanted to share the life he had created for himself with Crowley. They walked along the clifftops, staring out into the sea as they held hands. Until it suddenly got very dark, clouds massing over the ocean headed towards them as thunder roared and lightning struck the sea. The cliff edge gave way under Aziraphale’s feet and he began to fall. Crowley tried to grab his hand, to pull him back to safety, but he was too slow. He watched as Aziraphale plummeted off the edge and down…down, down, down into the darkness of the angry waters. He was swallowed up by the waves.

And that was when Crowley woke up. He was greeted with the cacophony of insects and the ticking of a clock, white-blond curls tickling his skin. A panic bloomed inside him and he fled. It bloomed like a weed in a garden, digging its roots down deep and refusing to move. He couldn’t doom Aziraphale. He couldn’t live with himself if he made him Fall. Loving a Demon would do that, he thought. So, he left. He gathered his things and left the cottage, returning to his flat briefly. He left the Bentley, his mind not exactly set on where he would go. So, he wandered.

Concealing his presence, he wandered all over the city and surrounding areas first, visiting places he hadn’t been to in a very long time. The American Ambassador’s London residence, Tadfield Manor, and the place the Christ Church on Broadway in Westminster used to be, now a public garden. He crossed the channel to take a tour of France and was flooded by memories of the Revolution and crepes. He travelled back to the original site of the Globe Theatre and relived watching the most boring Shakespearian tragedy ever written.

He went to Wessex, forgoing the stuffy armour this time ‘round. And then to Rome where he tried to find a place that made oysters just like Patronus used to. He couldn’t find one that did it right, so he settled with going to La Pergola and spending an extraordinary amount of money on dinner. He went to Jerusalem. Not to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre—which was _close_, but not quite right—but to the _actual_ location of Golgotha.

The border of Turkey and Armenia was his next stop, somewhere just east of Mount Ararat. He stood in a field staring out at the much-changed landscape. But he knew. He knew he was in the right place and he wept silent tears as he remembered flood waters. It came so quickly, and he wasn’t able to save everyone. He had grabbed as many children as he could, carrying them to safety. But others were lost. So many others and he blamed himself for not being strong enough to carry them all. He had watched children drown. Expecting mothers and elderly couples. Gone.

His second to last stop was nearby. At the head of the Persian Gulf, where the Tigris and Euphrates met and ran into the sea. He stayed in the city of Basra in Iraq. He remembered when the first settlers built over the verdant Garden. He was sad to see the place go, but happy for the humans that had discovered it and made it their home. Until others came along and made it into a military base, perverting it into something to wreak havoc on the Sasanian Empire. Somewhere outside the city, he stood still, watching the storm clouds amassing in the east. He didn’t move an inch, letting the rain fall over him in little rivulets, pasting his hair to his forehead. And he thought of a pure white wing, shielding him from the cold. It was time to go back.

He left the middle east behind and headed back to London. To the home he and Aziraphale had made for themselves. Except Aziraphale wasn’t there anymore. The bookshop had been abandoned, boarded up and left to rot. The perfect place to brood. When the sun dipped below the city skyline, he slithered inside and curled up in what used to be the backroom of the shop and he slept for the next six months.

When he woke up, it was the beginning of Autumn. Leaves all orange and yellow, catching the morning light to resemble a brilliant fire. He stumbled from the bookshop in a daze and made his way to Mayfair, back to his old flat. As empty and lonely as it was, he did sort of miss it. But it no longer felt like his home. Not really. His home was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, somewhere by the sea. His vintage ansaphone blinked languidly in the dull light and he pressed the button, listening to the many, many messages that his Angel had left him. There were a lot of them. Two per day, for 545 days. There were 1090 messages. And he listened to them all.

Aziraphale’s voice was music to his ears. A wonderful, nagging music. The messages started off panicked and worried. After a while, they morphed into despondency and then…then it was just Aziraphale recounting his day as if he were actually speaking to Crowley: He went to the market that day. Did you know they had a new kind of fish there today? He bought some and tried to fry it up but failed miserably at making something edible. Crowley would’ve laughed at him. Good night, dearest. I’ll call again tomorrow.

A new morning was shining and by the last message, Crowley was pressing his fists into his eyes in an attempt to stop the flood of tears. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep running away. But he was scared. Scared of what might happen to Aziraphale if they continued what he had left behind in that soft, warm bed. But he _needed_ him. Needed him as much as humans needed to breath, as much as a fish needed water, as plants needed sunlight. Aziraphale was _his_ sunlight. So bright and warm and helping him grow into a better self. Crowley picked up the phone and dialled the number he had memorised by heart.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hello, this is Mr. Fell, how may I help you?”

“…Zira.”

“…Crowley?” Azira’s voice caught in his throat at the question, coming out in a mere broken whisper. And he found himself sobbing. “C-Crowley, where are you? Please come home, dear! I miss you dreadfully.”

“Zira, I—” The Angel could hear a deep breath being drawn on the other end and waited patiently for him to continue. “I’m on my way over. Leave the door unlocked.”

“Crowley! Wait—” But Crowley had already hung up the phone and rushed out of his flat.

The Bentley roared to life—despite it being left alone for a year and a half—and skidded down the road and out of the city. Using a few demonic miracles of his own, Crowley managed to miss every single red light and stop sign along the way. What normally would’ve been close to a two-hour drive, he made in just under an hour. His heart was pounding the whole way and as he pulled into the gravel drive of Aziraphale’s cottage, his palms began to sweat; he glared at them until they stopped. When he opened the door to the cottage, Aziraphale was standing there waiting for him with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“Zira.” Crowley’s face twisted and he shifted on his feet a bit, not yet entering the cottage. “I’ve…I’ve been an idiot.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.” Azira crossed his arms over his chest, lips pursed as he attempted to keep his tears at bay. “Where the _Hell_ have you been?! I was ever so worried! You just take off in the middle of the night while I’m asleep and I don’t even get so much as a ‘goodbye’! Where _were_ you?! I called you every _damned_ day, you know!”

“I know. I…I listened to all your messages just before I left to come here…” Crowley kept his face down, focusing on the brown welcome mat outside the front door that, instead of saying ‘Welcome’ said ‘God Bless this home and all who enter’.

“…All of them?”

“Ah. Hn…y-yeah…” A shrug brought his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and Aziraphale pulled him inside by the elbow, making him stumble a bit. He caught his footing just before running into the blond’s chair by the fireplace. The door was shut behind him.

“Are you going to tell me where you’ve been for the past year and a half?”

“I was…travelling.” Another shrug as he stood awkwardly in the middle of the front room. “Everywhere, really. All the important places anyways…I uh…I took pictures, if you want to see them.”

“Later.” The Angel’s lips were pursed again. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know _what_.”

“I…Aziraphale—”

“No. I don’t want to hear any of your _rubbish_ excuses. You tell me why the _Hell_ you left me and where the _Heaven_ you have been!”

“You’re mad.”

“You are _damned_ right I am mad!”

“It’s kind of cute.”

“Do not trivialise my feelings, Crowley!”

“Right…sorry. Sorry.” The Demon sighed and finally sat on the sofa. It had been so long since he had been here. He missed it. It was warm and welcoming and was much closer to ‘home’ than anywhere else. He continued slowly. “I…got…scared.”

“Scared of _what_?” Aziraphale tentatively sat next to him, hands folded neatly. Crowley was silent for a long while as he stared into the flames of the fireplace. The Angel waited patiently. Afterall, he had waited for 545 days, what was another few minutes.

“…What loving me would do to you.” Crowley finally spoke, his words hushed and broken by a choked back sob. “I am a Demon, Aziraphale. A damned creature who has Fallen from Her Grace. A dark and twisted _thing_ that is never to be forgiven. And _you_…you’re light and love and grace incarnate. We’re like…water and oil. Not meant to mix. Being with me…could get you _hurt_. Could make you…_Fall_. I don’t want that to happen to you. I wouldn’t wish that on even my worst enemies. I don’t…want to be the reason for you Falling.”

“Crowley, my dear…” Aziraphale reached a hand over, taking Crowley’s glasses from his face. He folded them up and placed them on the tea table. “Crowley, darling. Look at me, please. I am not going to Fall.”

“How do you know that? You’re not supposed to sleep with the enemy, you know!”

“Darling. You are not my _enemy_.” The Angel placed a hand on the red-head’s jaw, directing him to look into his eyes. “I love you. And I can not be damned for loving you. As you said, I am a being of light and love. I am _meant_ to love things. And I love you most of all. My love for you is pure. She would not damn me for such a thing. In fact, the only falling I will ever do, I have already done. I fell for _you_, dear. A long, long time ago.”

“…That was really cheesy.”

“Oh, it rather was, wasn’t it…” Crowley chuckled before fumbling in his pocket for his mobile.

“…Wanna see the pictures I took?”

“Of course I do, darling.” Aziraphale scooted closer until he was pressed against Crowley’s side. He leaned in and watched his Demon thumb through all the photos.

He showed him the Dowling Estate and a selfie he had taken with a much older Warlock. He had been home from University for the weekend and had immediately recognised Crowley as his old Nanny. He had complimented him on his successful sex change operation, stating that whatever doctors he had seen had done a fabulous job. He had photos of Tadfield Manor, of Mary Hodges—formerly ‘Loquacious’—and of Adam and Dog, also home from University and living quite the normal life now.

A picture of a public garden had Aziraphale asking questions. And When Crowley explained it used to be the site of the church he bombed, the Angel grinned and stated that a garden was a wonderful use of the destroyed building. Photos of a creperie in Paris sent Aziraphale’s stomach to growl a bit and he let out an embarrassed little chuckle, followed by a frown and a flush at the next few pictures of an old bastille. He showed him snapshots of a spot off the Southbank of the Thames in Southwark where the Globe Theatre used to be, followed by silly selfies of him with exaggerated frowns in front of the replica building.

Photos of castle ruins and suits of armour and swords and flails. Of Roman streets and the Colosseum and Trevi Fountain. Expertly filtered photos of an expensive dinner were posted to the Demon’s Instagram. The next few were a mix of old and new. There were pictures of the old Western Wall in Jerusalem. Of the Temple Mount and a view of the old city from the Ramparts Walk. Then there was the western part of the city, pictures filled with memorials and museums and restaurants. A particular photo of Ben-Yehuda Street made Aziraphale rather giddy.

The Angel frowned at a picturesque shot of a mountain. Mount Ararat, a city resting at its base. Crowley sped by those images, not wanting to look at them and risk getting emotional all over again. Which led to the last few photos in the gallery of his travels. The city of Basra and the sun setting in the Persian Gulf. The very last photo was the front of Aziraphale’s old bookshop, the letters faded, and windows boarded up and dark.

“I stayed there for a bit…” Crowley commented on the snap of the shop. “Slept for a long while before I heard all your messages…”

“Crowley, dear. All these photographs are of places that we’ve been to together…”

“Like I said. All the important places…” Shrugging, he shoved the phone back into his pocket and shifted ineptly.

“You travelled through our shared history?”

“Hnk…er…yeah…”

“Oh, Crowley. My dear, sweet Demon.” Aziraphale smiled tenderly up into the red-head’s face, placing his hand on his jaw again. “Please, don’t ever leave me like that again…”

“Zira…what if…” He sighed into the hand, revelling in the warmth of it. “What if you’re wrong? What if…you Fall?”

“I am not wrong. But if I _were_ to Fall, it would not be due to my love for you.”

“Zira…” The Demon sighed again, closing his eyes and leaning into the hand on his face. He laid his own hand atop it and placed a kiss to the palm. Aziraphale pulled him down by his necktie, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his lips. Crowley returned the chaste kiss and pressed their foreheads together.

“Crowley. Stay with me. Please.” Azira’s voice broke with a held back sob. “There’s plenty of room here for the both of us, and I miss you so very much. You never visited as much as I thought you would. And truthfully, I thought you would have moved with me a long time ago.”

“I wanted to. As much as I like the city, I’m certain that I like you more.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “But I…I was scared. I still am. I’m…I’m frightened of what could happen. To you. To-to us. I’m worried that you _are_ wrong. That all my worst fears would come true and I would lose you forever.”

“You should have learned by now that I am _never_ wrong.” Az gave a sly little smirk. “One shouldn’t argue with loved ones. Especially me. You know very well that I will win every time.”

“Only because you’re so stubborn.”

“Oh shush, you wily snake.” Az placed both hands to Crowley’s face now, staring directly into his golden serpent eyes. “Say you’ll stay with me, dearest.”

“I can’t say no when you look at me like that…who could? With a face like that, it’s a wonder you haven’t been snatched up yet.”

“Oh, there have been several suitors in my time. But none could _ever_ compare to you, my dear.” A grin found its way to Crowley’s face and he laid a hand over Aziraphale’s eyes. “What are you—”

“Don’t look for a moment.” Azira heard a snap and felt a rush of wind blow through the cottage. When the red-head removed his hand, the front room was filled with the verdant plants from Crowley’s flat; several statues dotted the home in various spots. “I don’t know why you didn’t move your things in like _that_. So much easier.”

“Crowley!” Az grinned before throwing his arms around the Demon’s neck. “Oh, thank you, dear. Thank you, thank you!”

“Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?” He chuckled, wrapping an arm around Aziraphale’s middle. “You…give me…hope. Which I haven’t had in a long while. And its…a bit unsettling. Its wonderful and painful all at once. I don’t…exactly know how to deal with it.”

“With one step at a time, dear.” Aziraphale stood from the sofa and held out his hand. Crowley hesitantly took hold of it and was pulled to his feet. “And I’ll be here by your side to guide you. Always.”

“I don’t deserve this.”

“Nonsense. You deserve the world.” Aziraphale grinned again and pulled him towards the front door. “Come now, dearest. Let’s go for a walk. I want to show you the town and the ocean and the wonderful view from the clifftops. There is this quaint little market in town where you can get all kinds of fresh fish and produce. It’s quite lovely.”

The Angel led his Demon out of the cottage and down the little walkway towards the nearby town by the sea. And he did show him everything. The restaurants, the bakery, the little market stalls. The pier and the fishing boats. The clifftop view of the town below and the never-ending ocean as it disappeared into the horizon. The ground didn’t crumble, and the skies were clear. The air was clean, ruffling their hair and clothing, leaving behind a thin layer of salt. Crowley could taste it on his Angel’s lips as they kissed by the orange and pink light of the sunset.

Aziraphale was a good gardener. He had managed to pluck the deeply seeded weeds of doubt and panic from Crowley’s soul, replacing them with wondrously bright and blooming flowers. Of course, the weeds were persistent. They would rear their ugly faces every once in a while. But that never deterred the Angel. He would roll up his sleeves and kiss them away.

Crowley, for his part, directed a symphony for his Angel in the form of sweet words and gentle touches that were meant for no one else in the entire universe. No one, other than Aziraphale, would ever know how loving he could be. And while his doubts still festered, they were certainly less than what they had ever been. He loved and was loved in return. And that was more than he had ever imagined for himself. A Demon, a foul and wretched thing that had been cast out of Her Grace, loved by an Angel, a being of pure light and love and everything that he wasn’t. Everything that he once was. How poetic, he had thought.

The cottage by the sea became his home. Became _their_ home. It was warm and welcoming and just so…_good_. The black hole in Crowley’s chest was filled with sunlight and he felt whole again. They had dinners. They drank. They made love by the moonlight, and sometimes, by the mid-afternoon sun. But usually, they ended up on the sofa together. Crowley curled up between Aziraphale’s legs as the blond read a book aloud.

He could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-doubt and anxiety are terrible things. Please remember, there are people you can speak to. You are not alone.
> 
> If you find yourself in times of trouble, these sites have a list of helpful mental health numbers/hotlines world-wide:  
https://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines  
https://checkpointorg.com/global/
> 
> Thank you to anyone who read this, left kudos, commented, subscribed, bookmarked or what have you. I love y'all! <3


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